


Blame Gravity For Falling

by WhisperElmwood



Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Abelism, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Wade Wilson, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Bottom Wade Wilson, Canon-Typical Violence, D/s relationship, Derogatory Language, Discipline, Dom Peter Parker, Friends to Lovers, Fuck Buddies to Lovers, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mission Fic, Moral Ambiguity, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Peter-centric, Plot, Plotty, Praise Kink, Public Sex, S.H.I.E.L.D - Freeform, SHIELD, SHIELD agents - Freeform, Scarred Wade, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Build, Submissive Wade Wilson, Top Peter Parker, Violence, Wade Has Issues, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wade Wilson is his own warning tag, Wade-Centric, positive reinforcement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6718912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperElmwood/pseuds/WhisperElmwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter makes a decision that holds a greater importance than he ever could have imagined. He decides to offer Wade his help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Self-Fulfilling Prophesy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4181202) by [rubberbutton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberbutton/pseuds/rubberbutton). 



> Alright, so. This is probably the long-winded D/s Spideypool relationship fic no-one asked for 8l 
> 
> The verse I'm going with for this is a sort of amalgamation of MCU phase 1, a little of Phase 2, the Fox Deadpool film and Amazing Spiderman 1, the Netflix Daredevil and Jessica Jones series and random canon from various comics from, like, the 90's and early 2000's, because I am a super old comic nerd and fell in love with that era of comics. Do not expect House of M or Civil War to have happened here. I'm probably also going to ignore the whole Clone Saga thing. 
> 
> In this fic, Peter is in his mid twenties, Wade in his mid thirties, and it's set some nebulous time after Captain America: Winter Soldier and Ironman 3, but before Avengers: Age of Ultron. With a bit of shaking up, so there is actually still a Shield, like it was in MCU phase 1... 
> 
> Basically it's probably a mess. Sorry.
> 
> Just a few other notes: 
> 
> Stony features, but is not prominent.  
> The Avengers feature, but are secondary characters.  
> Daredevil features and is a bit more important than the Avengers, but not by much.  
> Jessica Jones does cameo, maybe a few other characters too - if and when, I'll drop their names in the character tags.  
> Wade gets insulted a lot, A LOT, so warning for derogatory remarks, abelism and insensitive comments.  
> Some of these remarks and comments come from members of the Avengers.  
> In this fic, Wade is not into any form of Pain Play, so don't expect that to come up - he's a sufferer of chronic pain for goodness sake, why would he be into that?  
> When I say Slow Build, I really MEAN Slow Build, ok.  
> Shield Agents are assholes. 
> 
> And yes, this fic was inspired by rubberbutton's Self-Fulfilling Prophecy. Basically I read that and loved the BDSM part and was like 'MOAR' and so... XD

Peter glances up as his cell phone dings jauntily, letting him know an email has come in. 

He doesn’t respond immediately, but takes his time with the spot plate and pipet, making sure the samples and controls are safely in the petri dishes before he even thinks about looking at the laptop. Once done, he puts the dishes in the cold cabinet, cleans up, throws his gloves in the bio-waste trash can and flicks a finger over the touchpad to wake his laptop up. 

Opening his email, Peter stares in amused incredulity for a moment. 

> _ Dear Patron! _
> 
> _ Congratulations! I am pleased to inform you that you are among an elite group of applicants to earn admission to the New York School of Dominance! You are invited to begin your studies in the Art of Dominance, beginning June 1st. _
> 
> _ Your official acceptance letter and important documents are being sent via postal mail. In order to accept this offer of admission and to secure a space in this class, you will need to submit a nonrefundable enrollment fee of $250. The deadline to submit your enrollment fee is  _ **_April 15,_ ** _ and enrollment fees will only be accepted if space remains available.  _
> 
> _ I hope you will decide to join our community, and I look forward to welcoming you to the dungeon this summer. In the meantime, please feel free to attend any of our affiliated clubs at a 15% discount until class starts, simply show this email at the entrance. _
> 
> _ Sincerely, _
> 
> _ Madame Valentine _
> 
> _ Taboo Plaza _

Peter puzzles over the email for a moment. It’s from a club he has actually attended many times, on his own and with Felicia before they parted ways, and he does receive the bi-monthly newsletter, with the latest in toy designs, Munch dates, articles on issues within the community and so on. But he doesn’t remember signing up for anything. 

As he contemplates responding to see what the hell’s going on, a second email arrives with another ding. 

> _ Dear Patron, _
> 
> _ This afternoon you received an email from our office congratulating you on your acceptance to the Taboo Plaza Dominance Training School. This email was sent in error due to a database glitch and we apologize for any confusion this might have caused.  _
> 
> _ If you have applied to the New York School of Dominance, you will be contacted separately about your application.  _
> 
> _ With sincere apologies, _
> 
> _ Madam Valentine _
> 
> _ Taboo Plaza _

Peter snorts and then breaks into a real laugh.

“Amazing,” he says quietly, shaking his head as he chuckles, navigating away from the two very random emails. 

One of his co-workers looks up at him over the divide between their workspaces, her dark eyes magnified through her goggles. “What’s amazing?” 

Peter smiles, shakes his head again, “Email cock-up, some company sent out a congrats for getting into their ‘elite’ course, then had to send out another one telling everyone their database glitched. Can you imagine if you had actually been applying for it? How many people must be sending in angry replies right now? Amazing.” 

Sama snorts at him, “And you find that amusing?” She looks back down at her work as she speaks and Peter laughs again.

“Yeah. Sort of.”

Mostly, he’s wondering how many people are going to try to use the first email as a means of getting into the clubs at a discount. 

Pulling his chair up, Peter sits and start going through the paperwork he needs to complete for the day. Now that his mind has been nudged into remembering the activities he enjoys getting up to in Taboo Plaza, however, he can’t concentrate. 

Before the end of the day, he’s decided he’ll pay the place a visit after patrol tonight. The anticipation keeps him warm for the rest of the day. 


	2. Chapter 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this has taken so damn long. I started a PGCE (I'm back at university doing a post-grad, basically) and I have zero time to do anything other than work or study - so this has come together in drips and drabs. BUT IT IS HERE.
> 
> I've never actually been to New York, so I apologize if my descrip of the city is bollocks. I basically used google maps to help me out there 8l

**Chapter 01**

 

“Wahoo! That all you got there big boy?”

 

The Hydra goon curses at him, quite colourfully and Peter laughs as he swings around a street light, bounces off a wall and drops on the guy’s shoulders, flattening him to the road in the process, all the while having avoided every single attempt the man had made to shoot him. He quickly strings the dazed man up and swings up to the next street light with another whoop.

 

Peter loves this, perhaps more than he should. Adrenaline sings through his veins, his heart beats a fast rhythm in his chest. His Spider Sense is on fire, sending him left and right and bounding in all directions as he alternates between avoiding laser fire, bullets and fists, and stringing Goons up for later attention. He loves it and if the bad guys ever actually stopped being bad, knows he’d have to take up base jumping or something just to feel as alive as he does right now.

 

A scream calls his attention and he spots a green and yellow bedecked goon cornering two cowering civilians. Everyone else is too busy with their own battles, or too far away, so he takes a running leap off the light, onto a wall and swings over.

 

“You big guys never learn, do you?”

 

The two girls scream again as the goon turns and starts firing at him, messy laser blasts that he dodges with ease.

 

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall, though!”

 

His already wildly firing Spider Sense throws another warning at him just in time to avoid a second goon’s shots. He spins, bounces off the nearest overturned car and barrels into the first goon, grabs the gun as he rebounds, dodges the second goon’s random firing and hits the guy feet first, tumbling them both to the ground.

 

“Run!” He yells at the girls as the first goon rushes him, the second scrabbling for the gun he dropped in the fall. He webs the second goon’s hand to the floor, dodges the first goon’s wild haymaker, twists and hits him hard in the solar plexus. Even his pulled punches hurt, he’s been reliably informed, and the guy goes to the ground a good twenty feet away in a groaning writhing puddle, arms wrapped around his middle.

 

Peter turns just as the second goon lifts his retrieved gun and he pauses, lifting his hands up in the universal ‘please don’t shoot me’, affecting to cower just a little.

 

“Well that ain’t fair, big guy. It’s just lil’ ol’ me, how about evening these odds?”

 

“Fuck you!” The gun wavers as the goon tugs determinedly at his webbed hand, attention shifting minutely between Peter and the webbing.

 

Peter shifts his footing slightly. “Ooh, language! Don’t let Cap hear you say that!”

 

With a swift kick, Peter dislodges the gun and spins to catch the fist aimed for his head, “Oh no no no, Mr Won’t Stay Down! No more fun fisticuffs for you.”

 

In a matter of seconds both goons are webbed together and hanging from the nearest street light. He waves an admonishing finger at them, “And let that be the end of it. Play fair!”

 

He swings back to the heat of the battle, with a smirk he’s grateful no one can see.

 

No one has actually told him what’s going on. All he knows is the Avengers put out a call for local heroes to give them a hand against an army of Hydra in Lower Manhattan. So, he came as called, only to find that, yeah, they hadn’t been exaggerating about that army. There are hundreds of them, as in hundreds and hundreds, and he would wonder where the hell they all came from, but he’s heard more than enough about their recruitment tactics to put paid to that line of thought, especially since Red Skull got involved.

 

Either way, he’s here and fighting alongside some of his favorite heroes, beating the crap out of bonafide Bad Guys for once, rather than teenagers with too much time on their hands, scientists with too much power or a returning face from his usual Rogues Gallery, really enjoying running his mouth off at them as he does it.

 

“Kid! Get up the Bowery, cut them off and herd them back this way!”

 

Stark’s voice, not Friday’s, so he looks around and sure enough Iron Man is coming up on him from the East. His hackles rise at being called ‘kid’, he’s 23 for god’s sake, but it’s an old annoyance that he’s pretty sure Tony knows all about and just plays on for the hell of it. Because if he’s anything, Tony Stark is definitely annoying when he wants to be.

 

“Aye-Aye, sir!” He yells with a mock salute and swings his way up the street as Tony blasts off in the opposite direction. He spots Hawkeye on a balcony a good fifteen floors off the ground on his way, trick arrows flying and taking out goons in shock blasts and smoke bombs and nets and plain old painfully debilitating wounds. No one can ever say the man ain’t interesting.

 

He signs a quick ‘need a hand?’ and gets a grin and a shake of the head in response, so he webs a couple goons about to take fire on Clint from the building opposite and keeps going.

 

Tony was right to send someone out here, actually. Looks like some of the goons are trying to make a run for it. Screaming civilians be damned of course. With some quick thought he gets ahead of the goons, drops down into the road and hustles the last of the civilians past him, “Get as far away as you can, these guys are not nice! They will not hesitate to shoot first and ask questions never!”

 

A young man actually pauses and snaps a shot of Peter as he runs past, cell phone in hand, pausing again only a few more feet up the road to take some more shots of both Peter and the goons racing up the street behind him.

 

Peter flails at him, “Oh my god, dude, git! You’re worse than Parker ever was!”

 

And he will never get used to talking about himself in the third person. Ever.

 

Before the guy can actually respond, Peter gets to work. He leaps from one side of the street to the other, webbing as he goes, creating an almost unbreakable spider net across the entire street. It’s a temporary stopgap at best, they can always go back a block and take the turnoff there, but well, it’s a start!

 

As he’s working to get the entrances to Broom Street blocked as well, the goons finally reach him.

 

“Cowabunga!”

 

What?

 

A red and black blur drops right into the middle of the pack of goons, the colours clashing horribly with all the yellow and green.

 

They all start firing at once, and he has to dodge a ton of stray bullets, leaping wildly onto the web he’s just finished spinning with a shocked yelp.

 

“I guess that was the wrong universe!” There’s a flash of silver followed immediately by a number of screams, “How about; ‘I am the night!’”

 

Peter can barely keep up with what’s going on, but the guy in the black and red suit using what look like katanas is definitely holding his own. Either he’s somehow dodging bullets and laser blasts at insanely close quarters, or he’s just… shrugging them off?

 

“Nope. That’s the wrong ‘verse too!”

 

Peter watches in awe as the guy moves like a goddamn dancer or something, twisting and ducking and weaving, swords flashing as he slices into arms, legs, torsos.

 

“How about; ‘Aku! Soku! Zan!’”

 

With a shake of his head, Peter joins in, leaping from the web and landing neatly on a goon’s shoulders, flattening him to the ground, before he twists and bounces, knocking a second, then a third to the ground, narrowly avoiding bullets, lasers and swords as he moves.

 

“I think Nobuhiro Watsuki would have something to say about that one!” He yells in amusement, finally having placed that last catchphrase.

 

“Oh Em Gee! Are you a weeaboo?” The guy yells as he twists, smacks the pommel of his katana on the back of a goon’s head, brings his knee up whip fast to hit the goon in the face as he goes down.

 

Peter laughs, grabbing a hulking great goon and spinning him into two more, sending them all sprawling to the floor. He follows up with webbing, making sure they won’t be getting up again any time soon, “Didn’t everyone go through that phase?”

 

The man gasps, his masked face somehow actually showing his mock horrified expression, “I will have you know, masked stranger, that weeaboo is not a phase! It is a - no, I can’t do this.” He strikes out, catching the last remaining goon in the throat with one heavy booted foot, sending the man coughing and wheezing to the floor.

 

Peter webs every single bad guy to the floor as he laughs, “Yeah, there’s just no defending that one, is there?”

 

The man wipes his swords off on a webbing wrapped goon, ignoring the cursing as he does, then slides them into the scabbards crossed over his back, “There really isn’t,” he says thoughtfully. “At least they’re not as bad as Bronys?”

 

Peter snorts, holds his hand out, “I’m Spiderman. Nice to meet a guy who knows his pop culture.”

 

The guy gives his hand what appears to be a nervous look, and seriously, how does he do that through a mask, but then he seems to shake it off and takes it in a surprisingly strong grip, “Of course I know who you are! I hear about you all the time, Spidey! All good things, I promise,” he adds hastily as if he can see Peter’s surprise through his mask. “I’m a big fan! Even before the whole,” and he gestures at himself, “Eh, thing. Anyway! I’m Deadpool - can I have your autograph?”

 

Peter has no idea how to respond to that request, but Deadpool changes tracks as soon as Peter hesitates so he lets it drop.

 

They make it back to the main battle unscathed. Peter pausing briefly at every road to block them off, while Deadpool beats the snot out of any and all straggling Hydra they came across on their way, yelling and whooping as he does. The guy hasn’t stopped talking since he turned up, an endless stream of pop culture references, running commentary and weird comments that Peter can’t make head nor tail of, as if he’s actually talking to someone else Peter can’t see.

 

Peter actually knows Deadpool, though by reputation only of course. The guy had shown up out of nowhere maybe two years ago, causing a bit of a stir, especially amongst the X-Men. Apparently he’s a mercenary, a mutant with a soft spot for the underdog. A killer - or a flat out murderer, if Peter is to believe some of the rumours he’s heard - and a degenerate. An immortal one. Which explains the way he shrugs off the bullets, lasers and knives.

 

So far, he hasn’t seen him kill anyone, though he has maimed a few goons, and he kinda likes his banter. Actually, in his years of hero-ing he’s seen Wolverine kill more people than Deadpool so far. So he’s reserving judgement. For now, at least.

 

“What the hell is he doing here?”

 

Black Widow needs a goddamn bell or something. Willing his heart rate back to normal, Peter shrugs as he webs another Hydra goon, glances over at Deadpool beating three more goons into the ground. “Helping?”

 

He swings off after another group of goons trying to make a run for it before he catches her response, though her slight sneer speaks volumes, considering she’s normally damn near expressionless.

 

Weirdly enough, for all the ‘murderous lunatic’ rumours he’s heard, Deadpool seems to be doing his damndest to not actually outright kill anyone in this fight. Peter shakes his head in mild confusion as he swings back into the fray.

 

At one point he ends up landing for a brief breather on a ledge some ten stories above the action, when Hawkeye drops next to him with a grin.

 

“I see DP’s joined us.”

 

Peter snorts, “Seriously?”

 

“What? The dipshit started that one himself,” Clint laughs, “Just wait ‘til you actually talk to him. He’s a man after my own heart.” He fires off an arrow at what Peter first thinks is random, but a second later an explosion drops a group of goons mid-escape attempt. “He’s a weird looking son’bitch, but I can’t fault his sense of humour.”

 

“So you actually know him, then?” Peter asks; he’s basically ready to get back into things, but curiosity wins out for a moment.

 

Clint fires off another arrow, this time wrapping a couple goons in netting. “Sure. I’ve worked with him a couple times. Great guy to have with you in a firefight. Even better when you’re on a boring recon mission.” He pauses briefly, “Well, if you can keep his volume down, anyway.”

 

Peter snorts again, rolling his eyes though Clint can’t see him do it. “Alright. Need any help?”

 

Clint shakes his head with a smile and so Peter leaps away.

 

On Captain America’s directions, after learning that Spiderman had webbed The Bowery so no-one could get in or out, Peter makes his way around the whole battle, blocking off every escape point he can find using his longest lasting webbing for the job, occasionally webbing a goon as he goes. By the time he’s closed off the final escape route, he’s changed his canisters twice, muttering the whole time about needing to make more of the stuff far sooner than usual. It’s a bit of luck he’s got an actual job these days, the new stuff can be expensive to make.

 

He drops down from a ledge after checking how much webbing he has left, landing squarely on a Hydra agent’s shoulders and squashing him to the floor with a grunt, (this has absolutely turned into his favorite move of the day) only to find himself immediately leaping backwards as a katana nearly nicks his throat.

 

“Whoa there!” He lands in a crouch a good ten feet away.

 

“Spidey! I’m so sorry! Thought you were a bad guy.” Deadpool smacks himself on the head, “Bad Deadpool.”

 

Peter watches in astonishment as the guy seems to listen to thin air for a moment.

 

“What? Yeah, I know, gotta pay more attention, can’t shishkabob our hero!”

 

Peter shakes his head, a little dumbfounded. Hero? That’s… new. From a fellow costume anyway.

 

“No harm done, DP,” he says with a grin, before leaping back up into the air, shooting and catching a web as he does. A glance down at Deadpool as he swings away shows him the nick-name has struck him silent.

 

The battle’s almost over, but Peter drops into the thick of it, fighting alongside his own heros.

 

Thor seems to be pulling his punches in deference to the fact they’re fighting normal humans - however misguided or malicious said humans are - his hammer hanging from his belt.

 

Captain America is right in the middle of everything, his hand-to-hand skills on full display as he kicks and ducks and hits and tosses his shield, taking out half a dozen Hydra goons at once. Iron Man skirts through the air above them, calling out positions and numbers, occasionally dropping small artillery fire in would-be escapees paths to deter them.

 

Black Widow is a blur of gymnastic moves, Widow’s Bite sparkling and shocking as she goes. Hawkeye - still floors above them all - takes out stragglers and snipers alike. Hulk, perhaps for the same reason Thor is pulling his punches - is a no-show.

 

Falcon skims down for the air, landing on three Hydra goons and scattering them to the ground, as Giant Man suddenly puts in an appearance, picking up two great handfuls of goons and dropping them off in what looks like a transportable SHIELD holding cell, picking the weapons off them as he does. Peter gives a great ‘whoop!’ and uses one of his great arms as a temporary anchor point, swinging out and leaping into a gaggle of goons trying to make a break for it.

 

A glint of silver and black lets him know Winter Soldier is also here, and a flash of sparkling red is Scarlet Witch working her literal magic. Quicksilver zips about at a dizzying speed, laughing as he goes, apparently using juvenile tactics to get the goons basically fighting themselves for him, definitely a move Peter can appreciate.

 

Peter ducks and weaves, kicks and punches and leaps, webbing as he goes, blood singing, Spider Sense ringing constantly. He loses himself in the physicality of it, the minor shock of a hit connecting, the push and pull of his muscles as he dances and leaps and swings, the exasperated cursing and yelling from his opponents as he lets his mouth run. Glorious.

 

A new whir of black and red and silver catches his attention as he dodges a particularly enterprising blast of gunfire from one of the goons. He uses the nearest street light to pull himself up and away, swings around it and the force of his return swing knocks the guy into three of his comrades, felling them all in a great winded pile. Peter quickly webs them all to the ground, kicking their weapons away from them, as he half watches Deadpool in his own small battle.

 

The man is almost as graceful as Widow, has better hand-to-hand skills than Cap, and apparently his mutant abilities extend to a greater level of physical strength than Peter first thought, though nowhere near his own. He’s also one hell of a risk taker. Peter can’t take his eyes off him for a moment, just watches in fascination as he leaps and bounds and dodges and dances around the Hydra goons, his body twisting almost as ridiculously as Peter’s can.

 

When each of the goons is a groaning pile of limbs on the asphalt, he swings over and starts webbing them where they lay, apparently to Deadpool’s shock. Really, how the hell does he get his mask to actually convey emotion like that?

 

“Spidey! Were you watching?” Deadpool’s body language is all surprise and eagerness.

 

Peter laughs as he finishes lashing the last goon to the floor. “I guess. It was a good show.” He grins and hopes Deadpool can at least hear it in his voice, if not actually see it.

 

He leaps up and swings away as Deadpool apparently squeals in delight. Peter can’t help grinning to himself as he crashes another escape party, utterly unable to curb his amusement.

 

\---

 

It doesn’t take much longer to subdue all the remaining Hydra Agents. Captain America - _Steve_ he insists on Peter calling him - claps a large hand on Peter’s shoulder companionably and thanks him for the help as they stand and watch the SHIELD agents rounding up those goons still able to walk, herding them into the many transportable holding cells. Those who can’t walk are picked up by SHIELD med units. Peter swells a little with pride; it’s not every day _the_ Captain America treats you like a respected colleague and thanks you for doing a good job.

 

“Was that Deadpool I saw?” Steve asks after a long moment.

 

Peter glances up at him, “Yeah. Interesting guy.”

 

Steve hums thoughtfully, “Be careful there. Deadpool… He isn’t exactly stable.”

 

Peter frowns. He guesses he had noticed the way Deadpool seemed to be conversing with something unseen, but then, who isn’t a little weird in the costumed hero business?

 

“Ok?” He says, allowing the confusion to touch his tone.

 

Steve smiles down at him, “He’s a good man, I think. But - he can be a little unpredictable-”

 

“He’s fucked in the head, is what he is,” a random SHIELD Agent mutters as he walks up beside them on his way to the nearest holding cell, a Hydra goon in handcuffs slumping along beside him.

 

Peter frowns again, “Well, that’s not very nice.”

 

“Don’t need to be nice, the guy’s crazy. He’s a nutcase, and he should be locked up with this lot.” The Agent looks defiant as he skirts around the two heros, dragging the goon with him, moving slower than he really needs to.

 

Peter, now sneering behind his mask at the Agent, looks up as Steve squares his shoulders, “I’d be grateful if you regulated your language, Agent. Now get going before I call Agent Coulson over here.”

 

The Agent mutters under his breath but moves away as Steve frowns at him.

 

Not wanting to get in the line of fire while Steve passes his disapproving expression over any other SHIELD Agent within earshot, Peter ducks out and wanders around for a moment, watching the Agents corralling goons, directing med units, setting up clean-up crews and conversing with Tony about the quickly gathering news crews behind one of his webbing barriers.

 

As he wanders, he spots Hawkeye trying to give a visibly wounded, limping and stiff looking Deadpool a helping hand off the debris covered battlefield, trailed by a handful of SHIELD Agents. After barely a second’s consideration, the Agent’s unfair and frankly insulting comment ringing through his mind, Peter heads their way.

 

“Now look here Barton, this man needs to be taken in-”

 

“No. Back off, he’s fine.”

 

“He’s a danger to the city!”

 

“It’s true, I’m totally dangerous-” Peter snorts when Clint smacks a hand over Deadpool’s mouth to shut him up.

 

“Not helping, man.”

 

The SHIELD Agents do not look happy, but when Peter steps closer Clint gives him a grateful look and nods him over. Peter hurries to join them and ignores Deadpool’s surprise as he easily takes the man’s full weight, allowing Clint to step away and confront the Agents alone.

 

“Ok, ‘Pool, let's get you somewhere quiet. Do you need a medic?”

 

“Nah, no need for medics. I’ll heal up in no time.” Deadpool appears to grin behind his mask, his nonchalant dismissal of his wounds shocking Peter a little, considering the amount of pain he surely must be in right now.

 

“Y’know Spidey, if I had full use of my arms right now, I would totally take full advantage of this situation.”

 

Peter snorts, “And what advantage would that be?”

 

He leads Deadpool to a relatively quiet and sheltered section of the street and helps him down to the curb, unsurprised by the groan of pain/relief Deadpool releases as he comes to rest.

 

Peter drops down beside him and lets himself actually see Deadpool’s wounds. He’s… Basically he’s covered in them. Most of what look like bullet punctures have healed already, only leaving damp looking holes in the suit. A few burns that he guesses are from the lasers, are also mostly healed, only the tattered remains of ruined, blackened suit to show they were ever there. From the way Deadpool is sitting, though, Peter can safely guess he’s either broken or dislocated both arms, and there’s a huge gaping blast wound over his right shoulder blade, the smaller corresponding entry wound on his right pectoral. His left lower leg rests at an awkward angle as well, and generally Peter feels quite bad for him. However good a healing factor is, it still hurts like a bitch until the wounds are gone.

 

“Why, to cop a feel, of course!”

 

Peter barks out a surprised laugh, wags a finger at him like a parent to a naughty child. “Consent, ‘Pool. Heard of it?”

 

For a second, Peter thinks Deadpool stiffens, the expression under the strangely expressive mask going carefully blank, but then a SHIELD Agent stomps over to them, all pomp and bluster, followed closely by an angry looking Clint.

 

“This - this _animal_ \- is a national menace, Barton. There are multiple warrants for his arrest, from multiple States. He causes nothing but destruction wherever he goes, and we know he has information-”

 

Clint actually snarls, “No, Agent. You are not taking Deadpool in. No arrests, no questions, stand the fuck down and back the fuck off.”

 

Peter glances at Deadpool as Clint rages and can’t help but notice his conflicted expression and uncertain body language, like he’s actually surprised at being defended. Clint physically drags the Agent away, still growling at him, and Deadpool watches in clear confusion, not even trying to hide it anymore.

 

His heart in his throat, Peter begins to put it together. Deadpool is confused because _this never happens._ Hawkeye is defending him, damn near praising him, and if Peter is right - and he often is - just based on the comments he’s heard from the other Agents, Widow’s sneering and even Cap’s warning to be careful, Deadpool is far more used to people insulting him, picking fights with him, denigrating him. He’s probably been chased off from battles he actually helped to win. Probably rarely, if ever, gets a thanks for his work.

 

Peter makes a snap decision, watching Clint as he drags the Agent away, trailed by the others.

 

“Hey man, thanks for today.”

 

Deadpool actually startles and turns a shocked (seriously, mask, how?!) expression on Peter.

 

Peter smiles and hopes Deadpool can tell he’s doing it, “Seriously. You did good, saved my ass a couple times, helped keep the Goon’s from escaping.” He chuckles a little, “And made me laugh. Goes without saying that that’s not something the other heroes are so good at.”

 

Deadpool shifts a little, they both wince as his shoulder audibly cracks back into place, healing factor apparently working in overdrive. “Um. You sure you didn’t get smacked on the head there, Spidey?”

 

Peter frowns, “Why?”

 

Deadpool runs a hand over his head, gloved hand over still-masked head, “Well, I’m Deadpool, right? Merc’ with the mouth? The loudmouth that get’s on everyone’s nerves? No one _thanks_ Deadpool! It ain’t done!”

 

Peter’s frown deepens. That’s exactly what he was afraid of. That Deadpool is actually very aware of the way the other heroes treat him is at once both upsetting and frustrating. “Well, _I do_ . _Thank_ you, Deadpool, for your help and for throwing your punches and for not outright killing any of the Goons.”

 

In response, Deadpool’s body language melts from confused, alarmed, protective, into pleased, shocked. His expression through his mask is open and happy, if also a little disbelieving. Peter silently promises himself he’s going to get rid of that shock, that disbelief. Whatever Deadpool’s faults, the man definitely doesn’t deserve to hear nothing but derogatory remarks about himself.

 

Deadpool speaks so quietly Peter only catches it because of his extra senses.

 

"Thank you."

 

“You’re welcome,” he says, letting warmth suffuse his voice as he filters away all of Deadpool’s reactions for later thought.

 

tbc


End file.
